Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/348

316   And, as I thought of Liberty
 * Marched handcuffed down that sworded street,
 * The solid earth beneath my feet

Reeled fluid as the sea.

I felt a sense of bitter loss,—
 * Shame, tearless grief, and stifling wrath,
 * And loathing fear, as if my path

A serpent stretched across.

All love of home, all pride of place,
 * All generous confidence and trust,
 * Sank smothering in that deep disgust

And anguish of disgrace.

Down on my native hills of June,
 * And home’s green quiet, hiding all,
 * Fell sudden darkness like the fall

Of midnight upon noon!

And Law, an unloosed maniac, strong,
 * Blood-drunken, through the blackness trod,
 * Hoarse-shouting in the ear of God

The blasphemy of wrong.

“O Mother, from thy memories proud,
 * Thy old renown, dear Commonwealth,
 * Lend this dead air a breeze of health,

And smite with stars this cloud.

“Mother of Freedom, wise and brave,
 * Rise awful in thy strength,” I said;
 * Ah me! I spake but to the dead;

I stood upon her grave!

all that Orient lands can vaunt
 * Of marvels with our own competing,

The strangest is the Haschish plant,
 * And what will follow on its eating.

What pictures to the taster rise,
 * Of Dervish or of Almeh dances!

Of Eblis, or of Paradise,
 * Set all aglow with Houri glances!

The poppy visions of Cathay,
 * The heavy beer-trance of the Suabian;

The wizard lights and demon play
 * Of nights Walpurgis and Arabian!